


A FIG TREE, STRUCK BY LIGHTNING

by jockohomo



Category: Death Note (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Angst, Artificial Intelligence, Ghosts, Hallucinations, Horror, Immortality, M/M, Misogyny, Worship, basically this is part of an AU based off of i have no mouth and i must scream, maybe kind of, so you know.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:49:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21949864
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jockohomo/pseuds/jockohomo
Summary: No one was sure why or when it had first occurred to Hatori to steal the sun from them, but when the machine made a decision, there was nothing they could do to stop it. Five weeks was longer than those of them capable of real thought had expected; in the past sixty-something years, their god’s whims had grown more and more volatile, brutal and quickly changing like those of a particularly cruel child. As it stood, Hatori’s former colleagues were condemned to wander in a permanent state of midnight — amongst other things. Their predicament did not seem apt to change.
Relationships: Hatori Arayoshi/Shimura Suguru
Kudos: 4





	A FIG TREE, STRUCK BY LIGHTNING

**Author's Note:**

  * For [teethrotter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/teethrotter/gifts).



> this was written to be a sort of holiday fic for my significant other, dallas. it's not very festive, but it's what they wanted!
> 
> the story contained here is part of a larger AU based off of i have no mouth and i must scream, which, for the uninitiated, is a wonderful sci-fi short story by the late harlan ellison. although no knowledge of that story is necessary to read this, i highly suggest you do, because it's a hell of a lot better than this and is kind of a staple of its genre - although it is very, very graphic and disturbing. you have been warned!!
> 
> my little one-shot here is probably nowhere near as disturbing, but there is some content worth warning for. blood / gore, misogyny / misogynistic language, sexual language, a pretty intense level of masochism that delves into self-harm, generally nightmarish imagery, and abuse (physical, emotional, psychological) all show up here to some extent.

It had been five weeks since the sun had last risen.

No one was sure why or when it had first occurred to Hatori to steal the sun from them, but when the machine made a decision, there was nothing they could do to stop it. Five weeks was longer than those of them capable of real thought had expected; in the past sixty-something years, their god’s whims had grown more and more volatile, brutal and quickly changing like those of a particularly cruel child. As it stood, Hatori’s former colleagues were condemned to wander in a permanent state of midnight — amongst other things. Their predicament did not seem apt to change.

“I can’t _see_.” The voice came from the middle of their party, high-pitched and whinging and reaching a crescendo. “I can’t see _anything_! It’s so dark — oh, god, I can’t do this much longer. Eiichi — Eiichi, where are you? I’m going to trip on something. Oh, god, I’m going to trip and fall and I’ll probably split open, you know how Hatori is, he’ll have me impaled on something and I’ll spill everywhere and I’ll — ”

“Ayame, could you shut the hell up,” Kida snapped. He gave an audible hiss as someone dragged him over a rock. “Some of us can’t ever see, and you don’t hear me complaining.”

“Say that to my face, you piece of shit! I’ll beat your fucking skull in — I’ll pull out your teeth, I’ll — ”

“No, you won’t,” Takahashi growled from the front of their formation. “You won’t do jack shit, Ayame. You’ll quiet down and put up with this like the rest of us, that’s what you’ll do.”

“Would you stop ganging up on me?” Mido’s voice cracked halfway through the sentence. She began blubbering. It was an ugly sound — it didn’t fit her very well. “You’re so mean, Eiichi — you’re all terrible. We’re all suffering and you don’t even care, all you do is lust and, and get angry and it’s no wonder Hatori hates us since we’re all evil, evil, despicable, disgusting, lowly — we’re like animals, we’re — ”

“I told you to _quiet down_ , woman,” Takahashi muttered, “or else I’ll have to make you.”

There was a sharp intake of breath, as if Mido was about to scream, but she was cut off by a flurry of movement. There was the loud thud of someone or something hitting the cold ground, followed by an indecent whimper from Namikawa and a moment of confusion as someone shoved themself several paces out of the crowd. For a moment, no one responded to it. The air was still.

“Did someone fall?” Higuchi finally asked, voice hoarse and shaking.

“Who fell?” There was no response, so Takahashi answered himself. “Must’ve been Takeshi. Right. Reiji, why the hell are you making those noises?”

“He _always_ makes — ”

“Fuck off, Ayame, I wasn’t talking to you. Hey, Reiji, did he fall on your foot or something? What the hell are you — you’d better not be touching him, you stupid whore — ”

Some amount of commotion followed. Shimura hardly noticed.

He had removed himself from the group; he had been carrying Takeshi over a shoulder moments ago, and now he stood a few yards out from his companions, head tilted up to the sky.

The exact sequence of events surrounding the world’s bludgeoning was unclear. An American supercomputer had consumed the world; it had been annexed by Hatori’s dead, rage-filled spirit; the entirety of the Earth’s population had been wiped out by him, with the exception of a group of seven former coworkers in an act of holy vengeance. Perhaps that was the order; perhaps it was not. For all they knew, they weren’t encountering Hatori at all — their despot could just as well be an imitation of him. Of course, that lapse of faith had only existed at the beginning, back when their minds were relatively untouched; Hatori decided that he wanted his subjects to believe him, so he forced them to.

Shimura was especially sure that he knew, though. Their god — for that was what he really was, a god — had altered each of them in different ways, mostly for his own amusement. Namikawa was insatiable and horribly disfigured; Ooi was mute and so physically weak that he could hardly walk; Higuchi was constantly naked, paranoid of those around him to the point of agony; Kida was blind and anyone who touched him would be subjected to searing pain, which was problematic because he suffered semi-frequent bouts of physical paralysis and needed to be carried. The solution was to harness him up and drag him through the rubble, since Hatori had made it painfully clear that any other solution was out of the question. Mido’s body had been altered, and that was perhaps a good thing for her on its own, but he had also made her hysterical and volatile. He had forced her to become a stereotype because he thought it was funny, they knew that, funny because she hated it and funny because the rest of them were so quick to turn on her for it. Takahashi was the perhaps the least changed — at times he seemed no different than he had been before, if a bit more assertive, but his disposition was far more violent and he was prone to fits of rage and hatred. 

Shimura was different; his pain was sublime. Hatori spoke in each of their minds, but he frequented Shimura’s the most; he came to him in visions, in movements, through those around him and through his own flesh. Shimura welcomed his own suffering and loved his god deeply. He adored the agonies put through not only his body, but his mind as well; he reveled in his own self-loathing. If he was quiet to the other six, he certainly stormed within himself. He knew that it really was Hatori who graced his presence, not some imposter. He was sure. Just now, he had seen him again, a single glowing figure silhouetted in the blackness.

“Arayoshi,” Shimura breathed, raising a hand almost tentatively upward. “It’s been so long. I haven’t seen you in so long.”

_“You’re the only one allowed to call me that.” Hatori sounded amused. To Shimura, he sounded warm; he sounded inviting. “You’re so special, Suguru, did you know that? Did you know that you’re my favorite?”_

Shimura smiled. He smiled whenever he spoke to Hatori; he couldn’t help it if he wanted to. Seeing him made it hard to think. His mind stalled and finally he said, “I love you.”

_There was a laugh. When Hatori spoke to him, it was as if he was speaking to a small child. “And I love you too. Poor Suguru; you really are lucky I waste my time on you. Why do you think I stopped talking to you for so long?”_

“... Because you hate me.”

_Another laugh. It hurt Shimura’s ears. “Hate you? Oh, Suguru, you’re so silly. Silly, disgusting, ignorant boy. My hate for you is boundless. I’ve always hated you; why would I bother talking to you if I didn’t? No, I stopped talking to you because it was funny. You were so confused. It was hilarious to watch. Don’t you like being scared?”_

“If you want me to.”

_“Cute, Suguru. Really cute. Hey, I tell you what. Since I love you so much, I’ll let you see again, how does that sound?”_

His choice in the matter was nil. The air around him became alit and Shimura could see the landscape around him.

Hatori had certainly been more creative in the past. The ground was charcoal-colored, dotted with rocks and crags of twisted metal that scraped their way out of the ground; the sky arched over him in a dome, maroon behind the blanket of molars that covered it. Behind him, he could hear four of the others screaming, but it hardly registered with him that they existed at all. He had seen worse, though, they all had — infernos and wailing bodies writhing together to form the ground and seas of stomach acid and holes that led to nowhere. Shimura thought it was beautiful. Everything Hatori created was beautiful.

_“I made this for you.”_

“Thank you, Arayoshi. It’s wonderful.”

_“Turn around.”_

Shimura did as he was told. The world spun around him, foggy and hazy and just out of reach, and he saw. His companions should have been there, clutching for their eyes and screaming, suddenly illuminated after five weeks in darkness, but they were not. Shimura didn’t care; what happened to them was inconsequential. It was what he _did_ see that truly mattered. In the places of his former colleagues were shadowy figures, contorted and twitching on the ground before him — all except for one. Where Kida had lain motionless before was his lord himself, pale hair shining red under the sickly glow.

Shimura stumbled toward him, reaching a hand out. “Arayoshi — ”

_“What am I to you, Suguru?”_

“God.”

_“Then refer to me as such.”_

“I’m sorry, God.”

_“Poor idiot. Aren’t I merciful?”_

“Yes,” Shimura managed, voice vacant and hollow and serene. He was grinning. “You’re such a merciful god. You’re everything, God. You’re perfect. There’s nothing that gives me more joy than being able to see you.”

_“Of course there is. Stop saying things you don’t mean.”_

“I’m sorry, God.”

_“You are. More importantly, do you know what gives you more joy than seeing me?”_

“No.” Shimura paused. He reached Hatori and fell to his knees. “I don’t know how I feel. I never know. I just feel happy. I don’t know anything else.”

_“I’ll show you what gives you joy, Suguru.” Hatori extended his hand down toward Shimura. “Take my hand.”_

“Yes, God.” Shimura gripped Hatori’s hand and was immediately gripped by a searing pain. The smell of something charred and burning filled his nose.

The skin of his hand was searing off. First it turned red, then it melted and peeled away; he could see his blood boil and evaporate, see his bones turn brittle and black until his fingers began to fall off. The agony was indescribable. He cried. He smiled. He smiled like he had never smiled before.

_“What do you have to say?”_

“Thank you, God.” _Happy. Happy. Happy._ “I love you.”

(“Fuck,” Takahashi muttered, squinting and staggering to his feet. “Fuck — Suguru, what the hell are you doing? That’s not — get off of Masahiko. Shit.”)

_“Isn’t this wonderful, Suguru? Aren’t you happy? What do you have to say?”_

(Mido shrieked, dragging herself to her knees and wrapping her arms around Shimura’s leg. “Suguru, stop it! Stop! Oh, god, please — ”)

“Thank you.”

(“Masahiko, stop crying! At least put up a fight, damn you!”)

_“Come here, Suguru.”_

(“I can’t, I — it’s been so long — ”)

Shimura looked at the man before him. He could hear nothing but the buzzing in his head, the voice of his idol, but he could see him beckoning. When had Hatori sat down? Never mind. It didn’t matter.

(“Hatori, please, make him stop,” Mido sobbed. “I know you can hear me, I know you’re making him do this, please stop it, stop it, stop it, I’ll do anything, I’ll — ”)

_“Embrace me, Suguru.”_

(Kida’s body was shaking.)

Shimura did as he was told.

**Author's Note:**

> sorry for that
> 
> writing / editing music was 'death parade' by nero's day at disneyland, along with some other songs by her.
> 
> https://sugurushimura.tumblr.com/


End file.
